Page 25 of Hellfire & Tinsel
“The torture is only getting to use them once a year,” Beau said, diving into a drawer with a clatter and unearthing what looked to be a thousand different shaped… things.
“They must be powerful.”
“The most,” Beau said smugly. “Martha Stewart wishes she had this collection.”
The name pinged something in Kassel’s brain. “Stewart, you said?”
Beau stared at him for a moment. “No.”
“What?”
“She can’t be evil! She’s still alive!”
“There’s a lot of souls on Hell’s waiting list with similar names,” Kassel said, even though he was pretty certain he’d seenon next year’s intake forms that their hobbies included stuff about cakes. “Maybe it’s someone different?”
Beau groaned and melted onto the counter in a dejected puddle, right on top of his cookie cutters. “Christmas is ruined,” he groaned. “How could this be? I feel so betrayed! She seems so lovely and nice.”
Kassel stared at him for a moment before he reached out like the woman on the TV had done and patted Beau’s head. “There, there.”
Beau arched into the touch, but he was still pouting. “There’s something in the Bible about worshipping false idols, right? I guess that’s why.”
“I don’t know about that. I think Martha just likes cookies and murder.”
Beau was quiet for a moment before he snorted out a giggle that sounded like bells. Kassel tilted his head in question, which seemed to set Beau off more. He pulled himself out of his sprawl and twirled in place, startling Kassel by wrapping his arms around him in a hug.
Kassel stared straight ahead, rationalizing this new experience.
He’d held Beau close. Picked him up. Moved him around. Beau had even snuggled into his side. But someone hugging him?
Kassel had never been hugged before.
“You’re funny,” Beau mumbled contentedly into his chest, rubbing his nose against him. It was a ticklish, yet not unpleasant sensation. “Not about the murder. That’s not funny. But you’re funny.”
“Funny?” he repeated, pressing a hand to Beau’s narrow back. It spanned the whole length, fingers curling around the sides.
“Sure.” Beau raised his head and rested his chin just below Kassel’s sternum. “No one’s ever told you that before?”
Kassel could safely say no one had. He shook his head in answer.
“What do they say about you then? Do you have a reputation in Hell?”
“I win the Mr. Hell pageant every year,” Kassel said after some thought, unable to come up with anything else. “I think that’s my reputation,”
“Mr. Hell?” Beau squeaked, suddenly turning red. “Is that like Mr. USA?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
Beau detached from him suddenly and began fiddling around with everything and nothing. Kassel followed him with his eyes, picking up more of that young lust.
“It’s a competition and a title. You know, for beauty and grace and… oiled-up muscles. Not that I pay that much attention, I’ve just seen it in passing, of course. I definitely don’t have any copies of the magazines anywhere around the house, so don’t even look! Or on my search history…”
Kassel didn’t know what a search history was, he just knew he didn’t particularly like that lust pointed anywhere else but him. He also didn’t like the thought of Beau running after this ‘Mr. USA’ like the demons did to him in Hell.
He cast his gaze out for the magazines, finding one in the bedside drawer and one under the sofa. He burned them to cinders in a matter of seconds.
“I don’t know what the criteria is for Mr. Hell. Probably better than Mr. USA,” Kassel found himself saying in a sort of mumble. “They just give it to me every year.”
Beau paused with his hand in a cupboard, fingers wrapped around a package that said FLOUR in bold lettering. “They just give it to you?”
